


The Fire in the Dark

by dreamsoflovingness



Series: A Ballad of Fire [5]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I can't stress this enough RAPE, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Lucien Vanserra-centric, M/M, POV Lucien (ACoTaR), Past Rape/Non-con, Poor Lucien Vanserra, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad Lucien Vanserra, Self-Harm, Seriously it's the Ianthe and Lucien situation do not read if it makes you uncomfortable, instadad!Helion, well minimal comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsoflovingness/pseuds/dreamsoflovingness
Summary: TRIGGER WARNING: Past rape-------A frustrated sob leaves his lips as he continues to feel her hands on him.“Make it stop,” he cried quietly, “please make it stop.”Her hands on him.Her moans.His sobs.-------As Lucien's new power burns him from the inside, unwanted memories are brought to the for front.AKA Lucien comes clean about the Ianthe situation to Azriel
Relationships: Azriel & Lucien Vanserra, Cassian & Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron & Lucien Vanserra, Feyre Archeron & Lucien Vanserra, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Helion & Lucien Vanserra, Helion/The Lady of the Autumn Court (ACoTaR), Morrigan & Lucien Vanserra, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Rhysand & Lucien Vanserra, Tamlin & Lucien Vanserra
Series: A Ballad of Fire [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974892
Comments: 37
Kudos: 81





	1. The Fire in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Rape and Self Harm
> 
> This deals with the Ianthe and Lucien situation, so it's not light.

He was boiling. Every inch of his skin pricked with heat as he forced his eyes to open. The air scraped his skin and the blankets felt like they were coated in faebane as they burned him. He tried to speak but all he could manage was a small whine. 

“Lucien.” It was Elain’s soft voice, but when her hand touched his cheek he growled and turned away. Her hand was too warm, it didn’t feel right. 

**_Lucien._** it whispered to him. 

“No,” he rasped out. He could vaguely feel Elain reaching for him then unknown power lashing out at her. 

**_Give in to me Lucien._** He whimpered and shook his head. 

“No,” he repeated weakly, his eyes rolling back and succumbing back to the darkness. 

***

_ Two Months Earlier _

“So...it’s been a year, are you going to have a proper mating ceremony or not?” Cassia asked as he sipped on his wine. They had all gathered for their weekly family dinner, an activity Lucien was now very used to. 

“Seeming as you two had no ceremony the first time,” Mor said. 

“But the Illyrian bands are still angry, a celebration could equate to trouble,” Lucien warned.

“How so?” Rhysand asked. Lucien gulped. 

“Tamlin made the same mistake. After the victory over Amarantha he went ahead with regular celebrations. He made Calanmai even more extravagant than usual that year,” he said. Feyre eyed him knowingly. He gave a subtle shake to his head which she responded with her own secret nod. “The people were furious rather than joyous.”

“What should we do then?” Rhysand asked. He twirled the wine in his glass, but Lucien knew he was listening. “Party or no party?”

“Celebrate it of course, but keep in mind all that your court lost. Maybe a mourning ceremony first then a celebration that is open to all, not just the High Fae,” Lucien suggested.

“Our,” Rhysand replied. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Our court, Lucien. This is your court as well,” Rhysand reminded him. Right, Lucien sometimes still had trouble accepting that he had a home and the war was nearly a year ago. He hadn’t been thrown against any walls and his skin torn open by sharp claws or teeth. Time had moved so quickly in Velaris. 

“What do you think, Fey darling,” Rhysand said, a small smile directed at his mate. She returned her own smile before nodding. 

“It would be nice to have a proper ceremony with our court,” she said. 

“Then it’s decided,” Rhysand said, “we celebrate.” 

“I don’t think I will be participating,” Lucien said simply. Please don’t ask why. Please. He silently begged them to let this go for once. Realization lit up Feyre’s eyes but Lucien silently begged her not to say anything. A curl of black shadows in his mind told him he had heard her.

“Why not? It’s a chance to get shit faced-” Cassian was cut off with a yelp as Feyre kicked him under the table. 

“It’s just...a sore spot. It’s Calanmai,” he answered truthfully. 

“One of us could stay with you,” Azriel offered. 

“No-No you all go celebrate. I’ll be fine,” he said with what he hoped was a convincing smile, “I might join later. Give me an hour to wallow.” Everyone eyed him suspiciously before going ahead with the planning after he continued to assure them he’d be alright. Thank the Cauldron he was a good liar. 

This time last year he had been on his knees in front of Tamlin. He had been begging him to go through with it. The court would suffer without him out. 

_ “Please, Tam, you cannot let Calanmai pass without your magic,” Lucien begged his knees aching as he continued to tug on Tamlin’s coat, “the lands, the people will suffer!” _

_ Blood trailed down his head from where Tamlin had slammed his had against the desk earlier and he was still dizzy, but this needed to be done. He would not let the people of the Spring Court suffer.  _

_ “Then perhaps the High Lord would prefer a replacement,” Ianthe said from her place perched on Tamlin’s desk. She hadn’t even batted an eyelash when Lucien’s head had slammed into the wood right next to her. At that suggestion, Tamlin finally turned to look back at Iantha.  _

_ “Who?” was all he rasped out. Lucien sighed in relief, Calanmai would happen and the people wouldn’t have one more reason to hate Tamlin. Until he felt cold, unforgiving hands rest on his shoulders. They gave him a tight squeeze, his collar protesting under the pressure.  _

_ “Lucien, of course,” Iantha said, “he’s your second.” Her grip left no room for argument.  _

_ Just as Lucien was opening to his mouth to protest, to say he could never go through with it, a calloused hand gripped his jaw. Tamlin forced Lucien to look up at him as his fingers dug into his cheeks. His claws poked through enough for him to feel the tips break the delicate skin. Tiny trails of blood eased down his cheeks. Tamlin’s eyes were emotionless as he stared down at him.  _

_ “You’ll do this for me, won’t you Lucien? For Feyre?” All he could do was nod in response. Tamlin let him go slowly, trailing the tips of his claws down his cheeks.  _

_ “Come, High Lord, we have much planning left to do,” Iantha said, linking her arm with Tamlin’s and pulling him away.  _

_ Lucien was shaking. He never watched Calanmai, he never had the urge to watch, let alone participate. Not for Tamlin’s lack of trying to drag him into the ceremony. Maybe there had been a time he would’ve done it. A time before Jesminda had taught him cruelty wasn’t the only valued trait in a male. Or maybe after her death to forget her. But not now, he couldn’t do it. Yet he had still agreed to it. His Calanmai tradition was getting blackout drunk and falling asleep in the rose garden.  _

_ But this time he had to take Tamlin’s place. He’d have to give over his control to whatever magic Tamlin let possess his body and fuck a female until that magic deemed them done. A choked sob left his lips as he sank down to the floor. He banged his fist against the ground, screaming and sobbing. Why would Tamlin do this to him? Another scream ripped through his throat. His choice was taken from him. Yes he had agreed to it, but it was under the pressure of a High Priestess’s hands and a High Lord’s claws. He had failed Tamlin in finding Feyre, if he had said no to taking his place Lucien had no doubts he’d be watching Tamlin rip his throat out. And if he was dead, who would protect Feyre if she ever came back? Who would protect the people of the Spring Court? _

_ Despite the agony and helplessness weighing down in Lucien’s stomach, the cracking of the delicate bones in his hands with each slam against the marble, he had no choice. He was just another pawn in Tamlin’s court, it was foolish of him to think otherwise.  _

“Lucien? Are you alright?” Azriel asked quietly. Lucien blinked, noticing the shadows encasing his hands and wrists. The rest of the table chattered animatedly over what the party would consist of. Azriel had moved into the seat next to him and Lucien hadn’t even noticed. 

“I’m alright,” he assured him, “just tired. I think I’m going to lay down.”

He got up silently, but Azriel’s scarred hand gripped Lucien’s wrist before he could go any farther. 

“You can always come to me Lucien, for anything,” he said. 

“I know,” Lucien answered, “but really, I’m just tired. I haven’t done much emissary work in months and Rhysand had me going back and forth from the Summer Court.”

The Shadowsinger let him go, but the shadows still lingered around his scarred wrists as he walked away from the dining table. 

***

_ Present Day _

Lucien gasped and curled on his side. The burning was only getting worse. It didn’t matter how many cold towels Feyre and Elain laid on his forehead or chest, Lucien was still boiling. He whimpered and writhed when Mor had tried to heal him, but there was nothing to be healing. Not even Rhysand could get past whatever block Lucien had around his mind so he could knock him out, putting him out of this misery for a few hours at least. He continued to whimper and the power continued to whisper to him. 

“We should go to Thesan,” Cassian mumbled, staring Lucien down. His hand was bandaged from when he had tried to cup his cheek in assurance, only to be burned. 

“How, none of us can touch him,” Nesta countered, tucked under one of Cassian’s arms. 

“Maybe Eris would know,” Elain whispered. 

**_Yes! Bring him to me!_ ** The power swirled and raged inside of him. 

“No, not Eris,” Lucien gasped out. The power lashed out at him. It felt like his insides were being whipped by hot lashes of fire. The whipping he had received from Tamlin was nothing compared to this. A cry left his lips and he curled into himself even. 

“Okay, okay no Eris,” Feyre assured him, petting his hair. 

“Where is he?” Azriel’s voice cut through the room. 

“No wait Az don’t-” Cassian was cut off by a growl. Lucien whimpered at the loss of Feyre’s hand in his hair. Instead it was replaced by a scarred hand against his cheek. The power didn’t lash out this time, no it purred in content at the feeling of Azriel’s hand against his skin. 

“Lucien,” he whispered softly, “tell us what’s wrong.”

The power subsided long enough for him to answer, “burns. It burns everywhere.”

“Okay,” he soothed, running his thumb over Lucien’s cheek. “What else Lucien?”

“It-” Power gripped his throat and a strangled cry left his throat. Azriel hissed, his hands flying back. 

**_Enough. Give in Lucien. Luuuuciiieeen._ ** The power hissed at him. He let out a choked sob and screwed his eyes shut. Darkness edged in the back of his mind. 

_ It’s me, Little Lucien,  _ Rhysand’s voice was smooth and reassuring. 

_ Do it. Do it. Do it. Do it, please.  _ He begged. 

It only took seconds for Lucien to slump against the sheets as Rhysand cradled his mind, 

***

_ Two Months Earlier _

“Fuck,” he whispered as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. The confines of his room weren’t as comforting as he thought. A few hours ago he saw his friends dance their way down the street to the center of the city. Rhysand and Feyre were wrapped up in each other, a true sight of a mating bond’s love. Amren’s gift hung around Feyre’s neck. Shining with each reflection of light, she was still traveling with Varian. Nesta and Cassian trailed behind despite Mor’s urgings that they were falling behind. Azriel was laughing softly as Elain stopped stare at all the flower wreaths the people had put out in celebration of their High Lord and Lady. Jealousy flared up inside him at the sight, but he quickly smothered it. 

In his room he could still hear her moans. He could feel her hands against his slick skin. As he tried to button his shirt all he could feel was her own hands pulling his clothes off that night and forcing him to lay down. 

Lucien didn’t remember running to the bathroom, but soon enough he was hunched over the toilet spewing out his lunch. And he didn’t stop until there’s nothing left and he’s only gagging into the porcelain bowl. But his skin feels like it’s covered in a layer of dirt. 

He turns his attention to the tub. Without any care of the fine clothes Mor had bought him, he ripped them to shreds and got into the tub. Using the roughest cloth he could find, he scrubbed his skin until it was raw and red in the rising water. But it still wasn’t enough. She was still there. Running her hands down his abdomen, holding his wrists down, pressing her breasts against his chest,  _ pressing himself into her _ . Lucien leans over the side of the tub, gagging until he’s throwing up yellow bile that burns his throat. 

When he’s done he leans back into the tub and threads his hand through his hair a few times until he grips it at the scalp. A frustrated sob leaves his lips as he continues to feel her hands on him. Round after round. Even when the magic wore off and he begged her to stop, for someone to help him, Ianthe paid no mind to him. 

“Make it stop,” he cried quietly, “please make it stop.”

Her hands on him. 

Him in her. 

The sound of skin slapping against each other. 

Her moans.

His sobs. 

Without thinking, Lucien was scrambling to grab the razor blade he used for shaving. Flicking it open he stared at the collection of faint white lines on both his wrists. His hand trembled as he stared at the raised skin. 

_ Please, someone stop me. _ He begged. He didn’t want to do this, not really, but he couldn’t stop feeling her. Hearing her. Fuck, he was even suffocating on her scent. 

Even in death, Ianthe was still haunting him. 

“Please,” he cried, tears streaming down his neck as he sobbed, his voice so small, “someone please help me.”

His vision blurred as he lowered the blade closer to his skin. Just as he was about to press it to his skin, a shadow darted from the corner of the room and encased both his wrists. He sobbed part in relief, part in pain. Azriel had heard and by the sound of beating wings coming closer, Azriel would come. The balcony doors were thrown open. 

“Lucien?!” Azriel called out, but he didn’t need for the younger male to answer. His shadows led him to the bathroom. The blade slipped out of Lucien’s hands and fell into the water. Azriel didn’t hesitate to fish it out, tossing it into the trash can. 

“Help me,” he cried. Azriel stayed silent as he drained the tub, but one hand wiped away his tears. Scarred hands gripped Lucien’s arms and helped him stand, guiding him out of the tub and sitting him down on the closed toilet. 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” he mumbled as he wrapped a towel around Lucien’s shoulders. True to his word, Azriel was back in seconds with a pile of clothes. Lucien was still sobbing, so Azriel took him into his arms, pulling him off the toilet until they were on the floor. Lucien sagged against him, taking in the scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. 

“Breathe, Lucien, like we practiced,” he soothes, his hand combing through Lucien’s wet hair. 

“I can’t,” he sobbed. 

“Okay, okay you’re okay,” Azriel soothed, “let’s get you dressed so you can calm down, okay?”

Lucien nodded. Azriel pulled him to his feet. Lucien was grateful that Azriel let him dress himself and was only there whenever his balance swayed. The sweater Azriel had brought him was his own, hanging off Lucien's slimmer frame. One of his shoulders was exposed as Azriel steadied him. 

It was quiet as Azriel pulled Lucien to the bed. He knew he was staring at his bed in the Night Court, but all he could feel was her crawling into his bed after chaining him down. 

“Lucien?”Azriel questioned. 

“Not the bed,” he whispered, backing into the wall and sliding down. 

“Okay, that’s okay,” Azriel mumbled, sitting next to him. Lucien’s breaths were still shaky, but the sobbing had subsided as he dressed himself. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back until it rested against the wall. 

“I’m sorry, you were probably enjoying yourself,” Lucien said, his voice raspy. 

“Don’t be ridiculous Lucien, you’re more important than a pointless party,” Azriel assured him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He lazily opened his eyes and turned to look at Azriel. His honey eyes were full of concern and his wings were flared protectively around them. The shadows on his shoulder whipped out every so often and they were still curled around his wrists. 

Azriel wouldn’t judge him. Azriel would never judge him, he told himself. 

“It’s Calanmai,” he answered. 

“I know that,” he said, “do you...miss it?”

“No,” Lucien whispered, “I never liked it to begin with.”

“Is Calanmai why you’re upset?” Azriel asked. Lucien gulped, but nodded. “Do you want to tell me why?” He nodded. “No matter what it is, Lucien, you can tell me. Your secret will stay safe with me, I swear it.”

“I failed to take Fayre back,” he whispered and Azriel nodded, “Calanmai needed to be done. Tamlin refused to do it with anyone other than Feyre and my time of hiding her was up.”

“What happened after you came back empty handed?” He asked. Lucien numbly reached out but Azriel understood, taking Lucien’s hand in one of his own to ground him. 

“Calanmai needed to be done,” he whispered. “But he refused to do it with anyone else. Ianthe suggested a replacement.” Azriel sucked in a breath. 

“Lucien did you…”

“I didn’t want to,” he whispered, “he had my jaw in his hand and I knew if I refused he’d rip it clean off. It was my punishment for not bringing her back.”

“By the mother,” Azriel hissed, “Lucien-”

“I thought,” he whispered, “I thought when the magic took hold it would feel like instinct. But it felt like someone else was moving my limbs. I didn’t want to do it, but my body moved without my permission. Ev-Even after the magic wore off she wouldn’t stop. I begged her to stop, I begged for help but no one listened. They just...they just watched as she chained me up and continued.”

He closed his eyes as tears spilled down his cheeks, but Azriel was there this time to wipe them away before they reached his neck. His touch was soft against his skin. 

“Lucien, I’m so sorry,” Azriel said, making Lucien look at him, “she was wrong in doing that to you and Tamlin shouldn’t have forced you in the first place. None of that was your fault.”

“I was his second, it needed to be done-”

“No, Lucien,” Azriel said, “no matter your position in the court, if you did not want it then they shouldn’t have forced you."

“I never apologized about Hybern,” Lucien whispered. In response, Azriel’s expression morphed from shock, to anger, to murderous fury, before settling on sadness. 

“Lucien,” he whispered, cupping his cheeks, “you have nothing to apologize for. Besides, we’re not focusing on Hybern. We’re talking about you.”

“I...I was so fucked up afterward,” he whispered, his hand gripping Azriel’s wrist, “I really didn’t know what Tamlin was planning. I didn’t leave my room. When Ianthe snuck in and...chained me up again I moved to Feyre’s old room. I really didn’t know he was going ally with Hybern. I’m so sorry Azriel-”

“Lucien,” he interrupted, his voice stern, “none of that was your fault. Hybern was not your fault. Ianthe raping you, don’t look at me like that Lucien she raped you, that wasn’t your fault either.”

“I should’ve stopped him,” Lucien whispered, “I should’ve gotten word to the other courts but between Ianthe and him passing me around, I just...I was…”

“Wait, what do you mean they passed you around?” Azriel stared at him for a second before deadly realization filled his eyes. “Lucien, please tell me what I’m thinking is wrong.”

“He was in Feyre’s room nightly,” Lucien mumbled, “who do you think he took out more than just his anger out on…”

“Cauldron boil me,” Azriel whispered in horror, his hands dropping to his sides. Lucien gulped and wrapped his own arms around Azriel’s neck. The older male didn’t hesitate to pull Lucien tighter against him. Lucien shuddered against Azriel. When a soothing hand rubbed circles into his back Lucien hid his face in Azriel’s neck. “You’re here now, Lucien, with us. We won’t let anyone hurt you again. I swear it.” 

Shadows encased them and Lucien relaxed in Azriel’s arms, letting the older back sooth him until his heart no longer slammed against his ribs and his breath came easier. 

***

Azriel’s hand trembled as he moved Lucien’s hair from his face so Elain could lay another cool towel on his heated skin. As the days went by Lucien didn’t get worse, but he also didn’t get any better. Not even Madja could decipher what was wrong with him. Azriel was starting to fear the worst.

His whimpers and whines of pain filled the otherwise silent room. They had all gathered when Madja told them if they didn’t figure out what was wrong with him soon, they’d be planning a funeral. Cassian and Nesta sat silently by the head of the bed. Elain was as close as she could be to her mate, muttering small stories and tales. A few days before Lucien would’ve offered her a small smile but now there was no reaction. Mor was asleep on one of the couches they had dragged into the room, exhausted trying to heal him to no avail. Amren was on her way back. In her letter she had threatened Lucien if he died before she returned he’d bring him back just to kill again. 

It was Feyre and Rhysand that made him suspicious. They had been discussing something intensely in their minds. Every so often one of them would shoot a furious look at the other. Whatever they were hiding, he’d pry it out of them later. 

“We need to talk,” Rhysand announced. Or not.

“Well spit it out,” Azriel growled. Whatever they knew would help Lucien. They kept it from them while Lucien was in agony. 

Walls of wind surrounded the room. Feyre’s doing. Whatever they would say next was to not leave the room. Azriel was not liking the way this was going.

“We might have an idea as to what is going on with Lucien,” Rhysand said. 

“Then what is it?” Mor asked sleepily as she sat up. 

“We think he’s a High Lord’s heir and this is his power manifesting,” Feyre answered. 

“You knew! You knew and you kept it from us. We could’ve gotten him help from the Autumn court by now,” Nesta hissed furiously. 

“This isn’t Beron’s power,” Rhysand asked. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Cassian snapped. 

“This isn’t Beron’s power because Lucien isn’t Beron’s son,” Rhysand answered, “Lucien is Helion’s son.”

“Oh fuck,” Mor whispered. 

***

Helion’s hands trembled as he leaned against the balcony of his room. It had been days since he began to feel an intense tug in his chest. When he had reached into the bond it was clouded with so much fear and pain he quickly withdrew himself and slammed a wall between him and the other side. But that didn’t stop echoes of it from leaking through. Never in any of his centuries had he felt something like this before. 

“Again?” Hemera asked worriedly, her hand running down his bare back. Her dark skin matched his own and her long dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She had been taking up his court duties since this feeling had started. 

“Any luck looking into what it is? I do miss our nightly activities,” he said, a shaky smirk on his lips. 

“Helion,” she scolded, but pressed a kiss to his shoulder anyways, “I’m being serious.”

“It’s so much pain and fear,” he whispered, “no matter how far I reach, that is all I could feel.”

“We will not stop searching until we find what it is,” Hemera assured him. 

“I know,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her hand. 

“Helion!” Brontes’s voice cried out as he ran into the room. Helion turned to face his other lover as he rushed forward to him. His eyebrows knit in concern seeing Brontes’s worry. 

“What’s happened?” He asked, hands cupping his cheek to check for injuries. 

“Beron is here to see you. He’s in the throne room,” Brontes answered. Helion’s face hardened. 

“Without any announcement, how rude of him,” Helion said with a smile that had no hint of friendliness. “Send him away.”

“He will not leave,” Brontes said, voice trembling, “he demands to meet with you.” 

Beron would pay greatly for scaring Brontes, but that would have to wait. Helion soothed his youngest lover, only a mere 400 compared to his centuries. He pressed a kiss to his temple before turning to Hemera. 

“Send him away,” he said. 

“Can I rip his balls off as I do?” She asked, one hand running through Brontes’s hair. 

“No, my love, not this time,” Helion said, “send him away, we have to sooth our young love.”

“No, Helion, wait,” Brontes said, gripping both of Helion’s, “he told me to ask you if you could feel it. He knows whatever this is, Helion.”

Deadly calm filled Helion. First, Beron had shown up at his court unannounced. Second, he had frightened his lover. Third, he was mocking him. 

“Hemera, calm Brontes. I’ll meet with him,” Helion said stoically.

“But Helion-”

“My lovers, warm the bed for me when I return,” he said with his signature smile. He pressed quick, passionate kisses to both their lips before turning and leaving his room. 

As he stalked down the halls of his palace he willed his crown to appear and his pajamas to change into a golden chiton. He would deal with Beron quickly and swiftly. 

When he reached the throne room the High Lord of Autumn was standing calmly and staring at the large golden statue of the first High Lord of Day, Helios. 

“Ah, so you do feel it,” Beron hummed, turning to face Helion. He clenched his fists, feeling them heat. 

“What are you doing here, Beron?” He asked calmly then smiled slyly, “here to join me in bed? I have always wondered how such a prude like you could conceive seven sons.”

“Six sons,” Beron corrected. 

“Ah, that’s right. Your seventh son no longer has the honor of being part of your court,” Helion mocked. 

“Dancing around the topic will not make me leave Helion, you want to know what I do,” Beron snarled. 

“Then out with it,” Helion waved him off, “I do not have all day to stand here and verbally spar with you.”

“It’s astounding how calm you are,” Beron said then smirked, “despite the agony your son is in.”

Helion froze in his steps. It was if Kallias had frozen Helion’s very blood and Tarquin had filled his lungs with water. Helion did not have a son. He didn’t have a son.  _ He did not have a son. _ Yet the bond deep within him reared in confirmation. 

“Ah, so you didn’t know,” Beron said. 

“Know what?” He snarled.

“I know what you and Aria were up to during the war,” Beron snarled back, “I know how you bedded my wife as my court burned. I know you continued to fuck her behind my back.”

“This is no longer a secret between us, Beron,” Helion snapped. 

“She birthed your son,” Beron growled, “and I passed him off as mine. He turned out to be as disgraceful as his mother.”

“You motherfu-”

“You gave her up too easily, Helion,” Beron mocked, his lip upturned in sick satisfaction, “and as a result, I’ve had the son of Day in the palm of my hand for centuries. Too bad Lucien turned out just as weak as Aria.”

Lucien. Lucien Vanserra was his son. He had watched Amarantha rip his eye out and did nothing. He had watched Tamlin whip him and again did nothing. He had watched him nearly be killed by Amarantha’s trial and he had watched. 

His son had suffered in Autumn Court without him knowing. Aria had told him of Jesminda and of how cruelly Lucien’s brothers had torn her apart in front of his own eyes. He had seen Lucien on the battlefield collapsing into Morrigan’s arms after his brother tried to kill him. 

His son had suffered and he had never known. He had treated him as just another High fae. 

Fury boiled within him. Helion couldn’t tell who he was the most angry at: Beron for torturing him, Aria for hiding it from him, Lucien’s brothers for their cruelty, or  _ himself _ for not realizing. He roared in anger as blinding light filled the throne room. Roars continued to echo off the high walls as he released another wave of power. Solar flares seared the white columns, but they would be easily fixable. 

The heartbreak Helion felt would not be. He fell to his knees, sobs echoing as he brought down the wall and let Lucien’s feelings invade his mind and chest. He didn’t even know where to begin soothing his son but he tried to to grip it and send calming waves down the bond. His hands trembled as he stared at them. These were not the hands of a father. 

Not that it mattered. Helion would never have the opportunity to hold a baby Lucien or hear his childish laugh. He’d never experience his son running to him on small, chubby legs and him lifting him up high up in the air. Helion had missed so much of Lucien’s life already, would Lucien ever think of him as anything other than another High Lord?

“Helion,” Brontes said softly, his hand resting on the High Lord’s shoulder. Helion turned and wrapped his arms around his lover’s waist, pressing his face into the fabric on his stomach. 

“I have a son,” he rasped, “Lucien Vanserra, he’s my son.

“Helion,” Hemera said more urgently, “it’s Rhysand, he just sent word. You’re needed in the Night Court. It's about Lucien.”

Helion had failed his son his entire life. He would fail him no more. 


	2. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A genuine questions I have before I move forward with this series

Ok now I need you guys to be real with me.

Since beginning this series I've had a nagging feeling to eventually have Lucien and Azriel together. Every time I write a scene with them together, I can't help but have it drift that way. It's almost like Lucien and Azriel themselves are pushing me to write it that way lol. 

I've always loved the idea of Azriel/Lucien. I feel like they could understand each other in ways no one else will. Honestly, SJM fumbled the bag with that one. Azriel should've been Lucien's mate. I have a feeling as the series progresses, this relationship might develop. 

This will very much stay a Lucien centric series, just with that added relationship. 

  
So I wanted to know how you would feel if I went that way? As much as I want it go that way, I like to think of this as a collaboration because your feedback really does inspire me and keep me going. I really do value you and all of your opinions. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not used to receiving so many nice comments on my writing and you guys really do show me so much love each time I post and I value each and every one of your comments. I read them over and over. They mean so much to me. So thank you so much for writing such nice things, they really do inspire me to keep writing. 
> 
> I really do try my best to reply to all of them but I'm pretty scattered brain so I'm sorry if I don't reply to you. 
> 
> And just between us, when I'm having a bad day and I feel badly about myself I go back and read your comments to brighten my spirits.


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